


Blood Mate

by Ketty_ai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mates, Mpreg, Slow Burn, Veela Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 22:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10174070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ketty_ai/pseuds/Ketty_ai
Summary: Draco is a Male Veela who couldn’t wait to meet his mate. All Veela’s knows that their mate would instantly protect them, feel a bond. A veela is meant to be protected and cherished, and loved. It’s unheard of that one would reject their mate, because they are soul mates. When he was getting fitted for his robes for his first year in Hogwarts he see’s a boy shining, and instantly know’s he’s his mate. It’s not until later on before school starts that he finds out that he’s the famous Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived. When Draco approaches him, and offers friendship, he’s turned down cruelly...anger and hatred covers up his sorrow at being rejected by his mate..and gradually he sinks into the world of darkness...and Voldemort find out that Draco is Harry’s true love, and helps that darkness to win Draco on his side to kill Harry. Turning Draco to become a willing Death Eater with Harry Potter’s blood on the mind.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Those who are following any of my other stories, please don't kill me. If you look on my profile, then you'll know I've already plan on working on these three stories. I hope you enjoy this one. I've worked really hard on this, so I hope you like this. I'm in College, so updates will be slow, but all my stories will be completed, and I have way more planned :)
> 
> This is my first fanfiction for HP, critics are welcome but I'll delete and hate or trolling.
> 
> No beta, all mistakes are mine.

 

__

_Music and laughter merges into one. The crowd cheering and encouraging the beauty before them. Her movements flowing like a tidal wave during a storm, only to then change into the calming aftermath._

 

_She’s use to this. Different faces, but the same outcome. She shakes her tambourine effortlessly with both her movements and the beat of the drums. She twirls around, the faces of the various people around her a blur._

 

_As the music picks up, so does her dancing. She knows she’s enchanting them, drawing in more crowds. In desperation to please her, they drop more and more money into the hat sitting next to her uncle playing the bandoneon._

 

_She twirls again and again to the music until it stops. Now facing the crowd, her brown eyes meet with grey, and her breath is nearly taken away. They stare at one another for what feels like an eternity. A pull within her urging her to run into the man’s arms. Without realizing it, her legs bring her forward, closer to the man. The abrupt start of the music snaps her out her trance. She looks over to her uncle, and he’s giving her an all-knowing look._

 

_Catching herself, she turns from the man and smiles dashingly at the crowed. “Who hears will do me the honors of joining me in a dance?” She asks_

 

_It’s the same thing they do everywhere they go. Perform for money, then as a final note, ask to be joined by an audience member.  Though this is the first time she so desperately wanted a certain person to be selected._

 

_All at once hands shoots up to volunteer, people trying to shout over the others to get noticed. But she’s not the one to pick. She’s never the one to pick._

 

_Her Aunt size up the crowed before moving right in front of the very man she knew held her future. He looks taken back when her Aunt stops before him. “You” she says simply._

 

_She’s been watching him from the corner of her eyes, pretending to be focused on her audience, giving them all a chance, so she knows he didn’t volunteer, he was still stuck in the dazed they were in together a moment ago._

 

_Without another word, her Aunt grabs the man by the shirt, and pulled him to the center. He stumbled slightly, but quickly regained his composure. It’s so subtle, it’s easily unnoticed by the average person. But she’s focused on this man. This man with unnatural platinum hair, and grey eyes._

 

_‘Grey eyes. How fitting.’_

 

_Her Aunt goes back to the others, and it’s the two of them left face to face, as if the world only held them both. She smiles at him, and he stays there, staring at her face with awe._

 

_“Well” she says, extending her hand “don’t just stand there.” He looks down at her hand, then back up to her eyes. He smiles full force, and connects their hands. They just stand there, looking at one another in the eyes. She giggles, realizing he must not realize what’s going on. “Dance with me” she pulls him, and sway this was and that before he gets the hint._

 

_He seems awkward in his moves of her kind of dancing, but keeps on.  Her need to know him gets the better of her, not being able to wait until after the dance. Until after the crowed has dispatched._

 

_“What is your name good sir?” She asked above the music_

 

_He smiles and twirls her around one last time before pulling her close to him just before the music stops. “Sebastian” he breaths, as if it’s a struggle to do just that.  She’s knows the feeling, he’s feeling what she is. Her suspicions confirmed true. “And yours, my lady?”_

 

_“Esmeralda” is her answer._

 

Draco tosses and turns, his limbs tangling in his silk sheets as he tries to free himself. His body’s so hot, everything is so hot, he needs to get these sheets off him. He could see them dancing in his dream. The people he’s never seen before, the names he’s never heard.

 

He tosses once more, wanting to wake up, yet not being able to.

 

_“The dream shall come in bits and pieces”_

 

A woman’s scornful voice echoes in the back of his mind. The dream vanishes and is replaced with sheer darkness. The heat gets worse to the point that it burns. Everything’s too much; the sheets, the clothes, everything needs to go. Nothing helps. It burns too much. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe. He claws at his throat, trying to somehow receive air, but it’s still not enough.

 

The heat builds. If feels like fire now, like he’s on fire. Like the fire is inside of him.

 

_“The one shall wake with fire in its blood”_

 

The burns are too much, he can’t breathe, it’s just too much. He wants to wake up, but he can’t. He’s stuck in the darkness.

 

All alone in the darkness, burning, and suffocating.

 

He’s all alone.

 

He doesn’t want to be alone.

 

He wants it all to stop.

 

_Just Stop! Please!_

 

Absently he can feel coolness on the outside of his skin, but other than that he can’t register anything else but the pain. He fights for the coolness, that did little to ebb away the fire inside. The mixture was odd, his skin cool, his insides hot, slowly the cool liquid feet as if they’re seeping through his skin to extinguish the fire inside.

 

Slowly the ice melts the fire, and the coolness takes over his body. The air now flowing easily in and out of his lungs, relief washes over him. For a moment, he wonders if he’s dead. If what he was feeling was him dying, and now he’s no longer living. That thought is quickly dismissed when he hears the familiar voice of his mother.

 

“He’s stopped screaming, does that mean he’s better doctor?” Her voice not hiding the worry.

 

Screaming? Had he been screaming? How was he even able to? It felt like nothing would come out of his throat. Evidently, he was wrong, because according to his mother, he had been screaming.

 

It takes a while to realize that he surrounded in water. He’s too tired to open his eyes, too weak to even attempt it. The weight he hadn’t noticed raises from his legs, arms, and chest, then something touches either side of his cheek. Hands. They are big and covers most of his face.

 

“He seems to finally be cooling off” he knows that voice too. The medwizard Kilmister, one of their family’s personal doctors. “But we should keep him in the tub a little longer just to be safe. Another cooling spell should really do the trick” that’s the last thing he hears before a calming darkness overtakes him.

\------

Murmurs of voices is the first thing he registers as consciousness returns. The second is that he’s no longer in the tub. He can feel the soft familiar sheets in his warm bed, the fluffed pillows under his head.

 

The Murmurs he starts to recognize as drowned out voices, that starts to become clearer with each second that passed.

 

“My fault?” That’s his mother’s harsh screech “this is by no means my fault Lucius! It is not my blood that has tainted our son, but yours”

 

There’s a throb in his head, and his body aches like never before. He wants to ask them to stop, so that at least the throbbing in his head would have a chance to cease, but his body won’t move. His body not following his brains order. No matter how much he tries to so much as move a finger or open his eyes, he remained paralyzed.

 

“You did this somehow” came the just as harsh whisper of his father “it has only happened to females in the past, never had the curse befall upon a male”

 

“My side holds no curses Lucius! The fault befalls yours and yours alone, don’t you forget it. You didn’t even have the decency to tell I - your wife- of this tidbit of information. Considering I am the one who bore your offspring.”

 

_Curse? What curse? Am I cursed? Is that why all those terrible things happened to me?_

 

“I didn’t believe it was real. I thought it was a tale to scare the children.” To justify himself before saying “No one can find out about this, we’ll have to keep his….condition hidden.”

 

“Condition? Really Lucius! He’s eight years old!” His mother’s voice was rising now with every word. This scared him even more. His mother never raised her voice. Even when angered, she’s a calm storm. “He’s suffered enough! You said so yourself what his nature will be, and now you’re saying we should suppress it?”

 

“You’d rather be a laughing stock? The Malfoy name turn to ruins?!”

 

His body chose that moment to cooperate, a moan escapes his lips as his body moves an inch to the side. He immediately regrets it for his movements cause the aches in his body he had already noticed before, worsen two times fold.

 

His eyes flutters open slowly before quickly shutting them once more. The lights are too bright, nearly blinding him. He could hear the footsteps approaching him, and tries again to open his eyes. This time very slowly, giving them time to adjust to the light. The blurry figures above him comes into view. Slowly he’s able to identify his parents as his vision evens out.

 

He heard what they’d said, but it doesn’t really make any sense to him.

 

The sight of his mother nearly brings him to tears. He was really scared. He really thought he was going to die. Thought he’ll never get to see her again. Never get to see either of them again. She sits down on the bed besides him and gently strokes his hair.  He feels the tears welling up in his eyes, his vision becoming a watery blur. He tries to talk, to tell his mother how glad he is to see her. To ask her what’s going on, but his throat hurts and nothing comes out.

 

Trying to talk makes him realize how dry his mouth feels, as if he hasn’t have anything to drink in over a week.

 

“Shhh my little Dragon, just rest a little while longer” her gentle tone soothes him. It’s rare to see such a warm expression on her face. Usually it’s stoic betraying no emotions. But sometimes when he really needs it, she reveals to him her emotions through her expressions.

 

Regardless of the reassuring words, he doesn’t want further rest. He feels as though he’s been sleeping for an eternity, and longs for fresh air. Not to mention, he really wants water.

 

“Do not coddle him Narcissa! He’s already eight! And a Malfoy, and it’s about time he acts like one”

 

“Hush it” she scolds back not bothering to look at her husband. She sits down beside her son, runs a comforting hand through his hair.

 

“W-wa” his voice barely a whisper, the words refusing to come out, his throat so dry, it’s never been this dry. Giving up on talking, he brings his shaky hands to his throat, immediately his mother catches on.

 

“Thirsty?”

 

He nods his reply - or tries to anyways and immediately regrets it.  The pounding in his head increases, the soreness of his neck making itself known.

 

Narcissa takes out her wand, points it at the nightstand next to the bed, and with a quick spell a cup of water appears before them. Carefully she supports his head in one arm, while using her other hand to bring the cup to his lips. Some water escapes, but the coolness traveling down his throat is a huge welcoming relief.

 

“Mother?” He tries once she sets the cup down, and gently lays his head back on the pillows. The water does nothing to change the content of his voice, still barely a whisper, so much she has to lean down a little to hear his words. “What has happened to me? Am I sick?”

 

He looks between his parents, neither expressions giving way.

 

Narcissa schools her features, looking at him with a serious but not stern expression - letting him know that whatever it was, he was not in trouble - before speaking in a clear manner.

 

“You are changing my child”

 

_Changing?_

 

“Your body is adapting to this change, and because of that, you’ll be in more pain for a few more days”

 

Even in his eight-year-old understanding - which is far more superior than most others his age - he understands his mother’s meaning. He’s changing into something. But what? He wants to ask, but doubts he has the strength to attempt talking once again. Luckily, He doesn’t have to, because his father answers his unvoiced questioned.

 

“Into a Veela” it’s said with such disgust, that Draco nearly fitch “you’re no longer a pure blood, but one of those vile creatures...it’s the damn curse”

 

His heart sinks from his father’s statement and attitude. Though still confused on how and why, he understands what’s going on now. He’s somehow been cursed to be a Veela, and now he’s no longer wanted. Now he’s disgusting like his father says all non-purebloods are.

 

None of it makes sense. How could he be changing? How can he not be a pureblood when he was born one? You can’t just be one, then change overnight - unless you’re bitten by a werewolf, or extremely cursed - that’s not how things work, he knows that much.

 

“H-how..I don’t understand” he looks desperately to his mother, searching her eyes hoping she’ll tell him this is all some sort of sick joke. That this was a test of some sort. Anything that would make this not real. He grabs her hands between his, desperately searching for a lie “it’s not true, right mother? I am a pureblooded wizard am I not? Both you and father are, as am I”

 

“Thank Merlin you’re offspring’s will still be purebloods”

 

Narcissa calmly turns slightly, not fully facing her husband “since this is your fault, why don’t you stop complaining, and explain this change to our son”

 

Lucius glares at her back before relenting and taking a seat on the far end of the large bed.

 

It’s odd seeing his father in such a way, almost hesitant, as if trying to find the right place to start, his silence stretches before he decides that standing is a much better option before beginning his tale.

 

“Many generations ago, so long ago that the records would be hard to come by, the Malfoy family was cursed by a wretched veela. Some say it’s because of her jealousy of our family’s wealth and status, others say it was because she was just mad. Whatever the reason, because of her, this curse has been inflicted on our bloodline.

 

She made it so a veela shall emerge in random generations in the Malfoy family. Fortunately, that veelas offspring would also be a pureblood, and continue down until another veela is awakened. I had thought you would be spared from such a fate. I believed at best it was a myth, a tale to tell the children at bedtime. From what I gathered, it hasn't happened for three generations, but here we are” he gestures to Draco with scorn coursing his features.

 

So many thoughts swirl in Draco's mind, trying to process his father’s words. His family is cursed. He is cursed. It didn’t skip him. His heart feels like it'll pound out of his chest, his breathing labored.

 

“What will happen to me? He breathes out, he can’t bring himself to ask the full questions, but he knows they know what he meant _Will you send me away? Will I not be your son anymore?_

 

His mother’s eyes soften - a look she’ll only give him in private - as she gently tucks a strand of hair behind his ears “for now, you will rest, all will be well. I promise”

 

He doesn’t want to rest, he feels like he’s slept for days, but he nods his head slowly, holding in the tears that threatens to fall, his father's already mad, he can’t give him more reason to be angry.

 

He’s a Malfoy.

 

Malfoy men don’t cry.

 

He’s still a Malfoy...isn’t he?

 

He lies back, and lets his mother put the covers over his shoulders “all will be well” she whispers in his ear before standing up and walking out of the room, her husband already left while she tucked in their son.

 

He lies there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing He’d thought he was would grow to be just like his father: Strong, feared, respected, but now his dreams are scattered.

 

Maybe everything will be ok, his Mother doesn’t seem to be in distress, she’d gave him her rare gently smile, so surely, she wouldn’t get rid of him.

 

He just stares at the ceiling, sleep not remotely claiming him. How do they expect him to fall back asleep when he feels like he's slept way too long. Giving up on ever falling back to sleep, he sits up in his bed and looks around his room. It looks the same as before, but he wonders why he thought it’d be any different.

 

He looks down at his hands and arms, they look normal, like they’ve always been, as far as he can tell in the dark.

 

He doesn’t feel any different either. He feels tired, and awake at the same time, yet still himself. Still Draco.

 

That’s when the pain starts again. At first just an itch behind the eyes, something easily ignored. He blinks, thinking it’ll help it go away, only for the itch to increase, to the point of painful. It spreads to his head.  He shuts his eyes tightly and cradles his head in his hands, rocking slightly back and forth trying not to cry out. He wants to shout out for help, but then his father’s disapproving expression flashes before him. He wouldn’t call for help, he'll just bare it.

 

Just when he thinks he can’t possibly take anymore, the pain stops abruptly.

 

He doesn’t move his hands from his head in fear of the pain returning once again.

 

He doesn't know how long he sits there, hand still clutching at his eyes, not moving a muscle before he finally summons the courage to remove his hands.

 

Nothing.

 

No pain.

 

He stays there with his eyes still tightly shut, trying to summon the courage to open them.

 

His vision is slightly blurry from the tears he didn’t realize he shed, but a quick wipe cleared that up.

 

Everything’s back to normal.

 

No pain, the room is still the same, and he’s still awake.

 

He lies back down, choosing to befall sleep just in case the pain decided to consume him once more. He stares out into space until his vision blurs. His eyelids fluttered and he lets them close.

 

As sleep grace, him, he hears a voice in the darkness _The dreams shall come in bits and pieces_

 

\-----

_The heavy rain soaks through her hooded cloak. Her vision not only blurred by the rain, but the red hot tears that refused to go away. She makes her way through the empty streets, the rain not bothering her. She has only one goal in mind._

 

_She clutches at her arm, the wound pulsing, but it’s nothing compared to a deeper pain within.  Her other hand housing a bag that she clings to tightly._

 

_She will get revenge._

 

_She will get revenge._

 

_She’s sees it now, the alleyway that will lead her to the hidden passage. She looks to make sure no one is around to see before making her way down the dark narrow passage. Upon reaching the end she stops._

 

_To any other it’s a dead end. To her it’s her designation. She walks through till she’s on the other side, greeted by a dark and un-identifying murky smell. Potions and Cauldrons laid on various tables in the small room, only a small path to walk through._

 

_“What brings you “came the voice of the woman she seeks “to my - disgraceful was it? -establishment?”_

 

_The woman looked young and beautiful, looks just a few older than her seventeen-year-old self, but she’s lived far longer than anyone could guess._

 

_Esmeralda doesn’t hesitate as she spits the word out “revenge”_

 

_The woman giggles mirthlessly “many ways to do that child.  Simple sprouting off inco-”_

 

_“I want a curse” she cuts off “to curse an entire bloodline”_

 

_“Hmm” the smirk on the woman turns darker “that will cost you a hefty price”_

 

_Esmeralda holds up the bag for the woman to see “I have money, I give it all to you” she tosses it on one of the empty spots on a table next to the woman._

 

_The woman tusked “you have misunderstood. Money is not what I desire. What are you willing to pay for this curse?”_

 

_She doesn’t have to think about it, she knows the answer. She’ll have her revenge no matter what. “Anything”_

 

_The woman smiles wickedly “Then a curse you shall have”_

 

Draco wakes in cold sweat, his heart pounding in a rapid pace. That’s the second time he’s dreamed of that girl _Esmeralda_ his brain supplies. The difference she was from the first dream to the second. Her face was smudged with dirt and she looked horrid while the first she had worn a semi elegant gown for a peasant.

 

He’s all alone in his room, the rays of light barely making it through the thick curtains.

 

The curtains _those are not my curtains_ It’s a strange thing to notice upon waking from a horrid slumber, but his curtains are never so thick. He’s usually greeted with bright morning light bathing him, now the room seems dim.

 

Suddenly a house elf poof’s in, Poppy, Nobby, who cares, with a tray of food “Master Malfoy, Dobby brings you breakfast” he says bringing the tray to sit on the now sitting up Draco.

 

“I shall have my breakfast down stairs with the others” he pushes the tray a little out the way, only for Jobby to stop his movements in frantic desperation.

 

“Dobby can’t let you do that. Dobby was told to serve Master Draco in bed. Dobby has to make sure Master Draco eats all his food, so Master Draco gets well”

 

Draco rolls his eyes but doesn’t make a move to defy the orders the house elf was clearly given. It meant they didn’t want to him down to eat with them. Who would? He’s nothing but a filthy...what is he again?

 

A Veela.

 

Not a pure blood.

 

His mother gave no indication that she no longer loved him. Surely, she wouldn’t let Father send him away.

 

“You may go now” he dismisses. He wants to be alone. His life is ruined and he doesn’t know if he can hold in the burst of emotions he feels.

 

“Dobby has been instructed not to leave until Master Draco has finished his meal” the house elf says timidly.

 

He sucks in the tears that threatens to fall and begin eating as fast as he could while staying proper. Once he’s finished the house elf-Dobby? -takes the tray and poofs away.

 

Finally, alone, he lets his emotions out and cries into his pillow.

 

\--------------

 

Over the course of a week, Draco was confined to his chambers, barely allowed to leave his bed. House elves would tend to him, checked in on by his mother, nothing from his father, he hadn’t seen him since the first time he’d awaken.

 

The pains would come here and there, nothing like the first time, each time would feel like he’s burning from the inside. When he sleeps, he dreams of the woman -Esmerelda- and the man- Sebastian - dancing. It’s the same scene playing over and over again, a meaning he’s yet to decipher.

 

Sometimes they are dancing, other’s she’s talking to that woman about revenge and curses. Nothing new. And sometimes...

 

Sometimes there’s nothing but complete darkness. The feeling of cold loneliness. Something hard to explain even to himself - not that he’s told anyone of the dreams - the feeling of missing something, without knowing what that something is.

 

He’s not allowed to do much, not like he could if he was allowed to anyways considering how weak he’s become. Some days he feels normal, like nothing has happened, most days he’s weaken by the all-consuming pain that coursed through him Sometimes it’s his entire body, while others would be just a specific part.

 

After the pain subdue he would be left weak and sometime dehydrated, Doctor Kilmister would often check up on him, stating that he’ll be fine, that it would all be over soon.

 

It’s the thirteenth day of his confinement, lying in bed that has become a prison since being on bed rest since the ordeal, Draco’s studying the newest chapter his tutor assigned.

 

One reward of this whole sickness - which everyone chose to call it - was the limited time he had to spend in his lessons. Before he was subjected to tutor sessions ten hours a day, not including homework assignments afterwards. Now, he has only an hour session, and very few assignments.

 

It was no surprise when the door opened, another downfall he has become accustomed to people entering without knocking or any sort of announcement. Always checking on him, or tending to him. The surprise was when he looks up, it’s his father’s sight that greets him.

 

Lucius Malfoy’s presence radiated with icy authority. His expression unreadable, hands clasped behind his back, Draco froze.

 

Was it time? Was this the moment he would be disowned?

  
“F-Father” he puts his book down, giving Lucius his full undivided attention. Resting his hands in his lap, fidgeting from his nerves.

The proud look his father usually gave him is absent, only stoniness greets him. The older Malfoy’s stare was piercing. Grey meeting grey.

“do not stutter” he hisses, face betraying no emotion. Draco flinch at the tone without realizing, earning a more hateful tone “You are a Malfoy. A pure blood. Act like it.”

“But you said I’m not-“

“And as a Pureblood” he cuts off “and a Malfoy, you don’t dainty off in fear. You are powerful, superior to others, and you will act the part.”

Draco nods in understanding, not truly understanding, but not wanting to anger his father more.

 

Lucius seems to be satisfied and continues to talk “The Parkinson’s will be here this evening, I expect you to entertain their daughter”

 

Draco refrains from making a face. Pansy was an annoying girl, always acting weird around dim. He didn’t like it.

 

“The Truth of your new status shall remain a secret, you are not to utter a word of it. You are to act like a pure-blood, think like a pure-blood, everything about you better radiate pure-blood” The threat in his father’s voice is unmistakable. Draco doesn’t want to even imagine what promise it entitled.

 

The fear inside him increases. He wants to duck his head and wrap himself into a tight ball, every instinct telling him to look away from those piercing eyes so similar to his on. Only he keeps the gaze and swallows thickly, knowing if he did what he so desired, it would be un-Malfoy-like, and that could anger his father, something h did not want to do.

 

Draco nods his understanding, seemingly pleased, Lucius continues “Good. Do not disappoint me, the Parkinson’s are an honorable family, one day ours may join”

 

Draco has no idea what his father means by that statement, but he wisely chooses to agree. Satisfied once again, Lucius turns to leave “you may resume studying” he speaks over his shoulder before heading towards the door.

 

“Father” calls out Draco hesitantly. Lucius stops but doesn’t turn to face him. Though it frightens Draco to bring it up, he knows he must. He has to know more, even if he’s to hide his shameful nature. “Can you tell me more about the curse? So, that I may know how to fight its nature”

 

It’s quiet for what feels like forever, but in reality, only a few seconds, heart beating fast in fear that his father would become angry, when finally, Lucius speaks. “The cures were place upon our bloodline by and evil sadistic vela.” He turns and looks at the young boy “At first, our ancestors thought it a fluke when nothing happened, but over time the curse reeled its ugly head. A daughter was born a pureblood, but turn dint a veela once she was older.  Again, it kept happening, skipping generations, but always daughters. The children born from those veela children miraculously were born pureblood, but it’s a shame our family has harbored.

 

Not much else is known, records only from word of mouth. My father told me on my eighteenth birthday of the curse, his father before him. I was to tell you on yours.” With that he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

 

Many emotions flashes within Draco, it’s hard for his young mind to comprehend. He’s being punished because some old hag was jealous of his family. The disqust at what he’s becomes threatened to upheave his breakfast.

 

The reality of it all is all too overwhelming. The way his father looks and even the manner of talking to him, different than before. It’s weird at the same time, he doesn’t feel any different. He feels like the same old Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfory. Everything feels the same, but the reality is, it’s not. Lots has changed. His world has changed…because …he’s not a pureblood anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
